


still bored still tired

by Acrylicdemon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Character Death, Depression, Foster Care, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8062978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acrylicdemon/pseuds/Acrylicdemon
Summary: It wasn’t all terrible, Stiles knows. He was so cold, Derek was so warm, everything was fading and he was just so tired. His mom gently took his hand, led him to the abyss, and it was alright. He was safe. Everyone was safe. Nothing is cold, everything is warm and welcome. And when Derek joins him in a matter of blinks, he can only smile. His dad joins them, and he’s happy. He’s never been so wonderfully filled, so loved. Everything is complete, and everything is okay. He leads Derek into Nirvana, and Derek shoots him a loving smile that melts his insides into gold.He’s content with holding Derek’s hand for an eternity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Un-edited, so there are a few weird ass author's notes (I usually put them in brackets? You'll know them when you see them) that I didn't feel like taking out, so, uh.... enjoy those little Easter eggs.

If you can fathom the idea that not everyone is 'alright', you can begin to understand the unhappiness of certain cultures that much more.

Few people can do this, the Sheriff knows. He knew any God out there wasn't on his side when his son had to watch his own mother die alone- when months after, everything was a wreck and nothing was okay.

Absolutely nothing is okay now as the couple and the agent wait for Stiles to pack his bags.

"You had years to get it together, John. He doesn't deserve this."

"One more year," John pleaded. "Please, not my son!"

No God was on his side as his fifteen-year-old son fought against the agents trying to take him away. There were no miracles, no good-byes, and no time to do anything but struggle uselessly.

Agent McCall gave him a sympathetic look on his way out. John threw the whole bottle of Jack Daniels at his head. A mutilated shriek wormed its way out of his throat as it hit the wall next to his head, coating the walls with the fiery liquid.

That night was spent resisting putting bullets in his brain in hope his son would come back, praying to every higher power he could think of, even if he knew Stiles deserved a better life.

\----

They take Stiles across the country to southeastern New York. His new 'family' is a pair of 'straight life partners' from Brooklyn, Sean and Ken. They were college friends of his parents from back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.  
His new house is in a recluse valley. Stiles can't remember the name of it, but it's definitely a valley with lots of hills that he spends a great amount of time slipping his own ass on.

He has never seen so much lavender in his life.

He texts Scott every day, but his dad never answers when he calls. Stiles understands, as much as it hurts to admit.

"Gay Amish people?" Scott says as they Skype the first week. "Dude, I'm almost jealous. You should teach me how to churn butter when you come back!"

Stiles laughs bitterly.

If he tries hard enough, it's almost like he's still in California. Just with colder weather and lots of apples.

(Stiles' first visit to the local cider mill was memorable, to say the least. It got him a job, so it's not like he's complaining.)

The best part of the property is the trails into the woods. Just shy of seventy acres, there’s a new part of the property to venture every day. Ken and Sean had kept the trails mown and clean when they bought the land. Several paths wind through the woods, flanked on each sides by miniature streams with speckles of man-made ponds every couple acres or so. Stiles is grateful, as he spends most of his time venturing the forest. It doesn’t escape the attention of his new parents, who are unashamed to bring it up at dinner one night.

"You don't smoke pot back there, do you?" Ken asks abruptly one night.

Sean almost spits out his pizza. "Ken, what sort of question is that?" he demands.

Stiles shrugs. "Good question, but I don't do drugs." He chews quietly for a minute and his new fathers wait patiently for him to continue.

"I just love the quiet," he finishes lamely. "My way of coping."

Ken nods. "Take all the time you need. We're always here if you need us."

His new parents aren't all bad, Stiles figures.

September brings what he dreads the most: school. Stiles drives himself to open house and gets lost in the plethora of halls at least eight times in two hours. An older teacher finally took pity on him after he circled her room again and handed him a map.

(He still got lost, but no one has to know that.)

He keeps to himself during school. He makes a couple of friends, but not anything worth writing home about.

Not that anyone but Scott would write back anyways.

"Dude, how do you pronounce your name?" Sarah from Horticulture asks while the video about seasonal crops plays on the projector.

"Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez."

She laughs. "You're a cheeky little bastard, I like you."

He can't say the same about her, or her friends that keep staring at him like he’s a piece of meat.

About two weeks into his new life, he has a grand total of five friends: Scott, Alex, Abbey, Jacob, and the tree stump he does his homework on.

Sadly enough, his best friend is the tree stump. It’s huge, though; it’s large enough to hold at least 5 people lying down with room to spare. The tree stump never complains or asks personal questions. For that, Stiles is infinitely grateful.

He drives everywhere he needs to go and does all the errand runs around the house. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

"God, he's like the gift that keeps giving," Ken murmurs one night as Stiles comes in with the groceries.

Sean rolls his eyes and wraps Stiles in a hug as he puts down the last bag. "Stiles, you don't have to do all this if you don't want to."

Stiles nods and hugs him back. "Coping mechanism," he murmurs.

Ken puts down the milk on the counter, and then comes over to seal the human sandwich.

"My sentimental boys," he hums contently. Sean laughs.

Oddly, Stiles feels whole. It's nice to be loved back by someone who isn't blackout drunk all the time. The scent of vanilla begins to replace the burning fire of whiskey that’s seared into his nostrils.

God, he's going to Hell.

October brings less contact from home. Stiles doesn’t really care, he has twelve essays due in a week because nobody warned him the teachers here are crazy and major push-overs. 

Extra shifts at the mill and A.P. assignments assure Stiles he’ll be too busy for his favorite holiday. He barely notices when it whizzes by him in a blur of paper and apples. Sean and Ken give him a huge bag of candy, so it's not all bad. The essays are considerably shorter that week as well. 

It starts snowing in November, because navigating new roads wasn't hard enough. Stiles gets snow tires for Thanksgiving and free cider from the mill he works at. The snow days are the best, he decides, as he continues to procrastinate his ten thousand essays and watches Bates Motel on Netflix. It’s not all hiding in his room and doing homework, though. He’s pleasantly surprised to find how chill his new parents are.

“It’s like somebody took autumn and shoved it into your irises,” Sean comments as him and Stiles are having a staring contest on the third snow day. "Good genes, my fellow homosapien." 

That makes something loosen in Stiles, taking those words and replacing them from his father’s slurred compliments to a deputy over the phone.

“Just as amber as his mother’s,” John sighed. “God, I look into that tumbler and think of them every day. It hurts, Fred.”

He stops shadowing his eyes every time he consciously thinks about how they’re exposed.

His dad is sober enough to call him on November 26th. When they say sober, Stiles is sure they just meant he isn’t as drunk as he was before. His dad sobs and asks him why he’s not home. Stiles has to hang up shortly after due to an impending panic attack that lasts the worst part of two hours. 

After that call, Stiles grabs heavier jackets and spends all his free time in the woods. The brisk, chilly air and thickly-falling snow does nothing to make him feel clean. He feels cold, numb, and ready to collapse.

His favorite stump is in the very middle of the forest, surrounded by frosted dandelions. It’s right beneath Scott’s best friend position as far as Stiles is concerned. Stumps don’t sob and convince you to move back to California. Stumps don’t try to cheer you up. Stumps just support.

Strangely enough, the wildlife rarely bothers him. He guesses it's because of his human scent. It makes him feel a little like a Disney princess when the wildlife come up to him without mauling him violently. 

(He ends up making a crown out of the orange and brown leaves on the trees. No one has to know if a flower or twelve end up in it as well. )

He nearly shits himself when he sees a huge black wolf watching him from the tree line. It doesn’t move; it just watches him as he turns the pages of his Jane Eyre book. Stiles doesn’t push his luck and leaves after he finishes the fifth chapter.

Sean gets him a gun after he recalls that story. Ken supplies the ammunition and stern lecture.

"Can you shoot?" Sean asks.

"Can I shoot," Stiles deadpans. "Can the sheriff's little bastard shoot a gun?"

"Shooting sass doesn't count, smart ass," Sean mocks. He pulls up an old cardboard target.

Stiles' hands move inhumanely fast and empty the clip on the bull’s-eye in record timing.

Sean gives him an incredulous look. "Most people wait to shoot until the area is clear."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're fine, pops."

The wolf never strays past the tree line. He seems content to sit there and watch Stiles do his chemistry and algebra homework, even going so far as to let Stiles come over and warm his hands in the wolf’s fur, during one horrid caffeine-fueled essay marathon. Stiles never minds, especially when the wolf trots behind him on his walks. He feels safer, no matter how crazy that sounds.

Stiles guesses he has six friends now.

"Wolves?" Scott says during their weekly Skype session. "Lucky, they're extinct here."

"Man, you only know that because Deaton told you."

"You're just jealous because I work with actual organisms."

Stiles snorts. "I can eat my merchandise. Take that, boy wonder."

December brings black ice and misery. Stiles spends a week withering in the hospital, with his only visitors being his new parents and a guidance counselor who brings his schoolwork. 

He hallucinates his mother's presence twice, and swears he hears his dad talking to him at least once.  
(Sean had put the phone on speaker while his dad talked to a lucid Stiles, go figure.)

When he gets back to the forest, it's a beautiful relief. The fresh, crisp air that had plagued him before now replaces the scent of antiseptic and bleached death.

The wolf whines when he gets into sight and Stiles almost thinks he's dreaming. There, curled into a ball on his favorite stump, is the wolf.

"Hey," Stiles greets him breathlessly.

He yips and scrambles over to Stiles, nuzzling his palm aggressively. Stiles scratches behind his ears lightly.

"Missed you too, buddy," he chuckles lightly. The wolf noses at his bandages and whines softly.

After that, the wolf doesn't bother hiding near the trees. One time he even jumps onto Stiles' lap after he packs up all his homework. Something you would expect from a dog, not a majestic creature of the wild.

It's just as nice as it is unexpected.

In late December, the wolf (whom Stiles nicknamed Thor, because why not?) let Stiles curl into him as he studies for midterms.

Sean is the first to notice the lack of gun on Stiles.

"Excuse me," he calls out just as Stiles is about to head out.

At first Stiles thinks it's about the whole jar of crunchy peanut butter in his bag he snagged for him and Thor. He turns around just as Sean pulls the gun out of the kitchen drawer.

"Forget your gun?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh," Stiles says, guilt churning in his gut. "Yeah, sorry, just- midterms, right?"

Sean nods, giving him a concerned look, but doesn't push the subject further. "You can always study here when you're ready."

Nodding numbly, Stiles takes the gun and stashes it in the first tree he finds on the trail.

January seems to bring restless fighting. Thor appears less and less as the month goes on, leaving muffled shouting in his wake. It scares him when hunters walk straight past his study spot while he’s still there, yelling about “where that damn wolf went to.”

It's selfish, but he misses Thor.

He gets A's on all his midterms and his GPA is almost a 5.0.

A new teacher's aide appears at the school, Mr. Hale. He's in five of Stiles' ten classes and for some unknown reason, Stiles finds more reasons to stay after class and talk to the guy. There’s something familiar about him, but Stiles won’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.

He starts coming home more and more sexually frustrated. Ken must notice because lube and her-pleasure condoms appear on his bed the very next day. When he uses them to hook up with a guy from his English class he feels disgusted. Mr. Hale gives him a knowing look, and the disgust turns to shame.

Thor comes back one day in late January, huddled at the base of Stiles' stump.

"Hey bud," he greets. Thor walks over to him and nuzzles into Stiles' side.

Life gets a little better after that.

Mr. Hale is sitting at Stiles' desk when he walks in to his first period one morning. When he notices Stiles he stands up, visibly flustered.

"Stiles! Sorry, I was just- uh, grading some papers."

Stiles shrugs. "It's okay, I would've just sat in another chair."

He slinks into his recently-vacated seat and pulls out his battered copy of Heart of Darkness.

"I just like getting here early to avoid traffic," Stiles explains. "Sorry if I interfered with your paper grading."

Mr. Hale shakes his head. "No, it's fine. Just like to shake it up a little."

“Yeah, grading papers in different seats. You really like the live on the wild side, Mr. Hale.”

He chuckles and Stiles' heart melts a little, so of course that's when the bell for the day rings.

When Stiles gets home that night, there's a vibrating dildo and fleshlight on his bed with a note.

"gone till tomorrow night, go crazy you magnificent bastard "

He tries both at once and nearly blacks out from pleasure.

The next day he's markedly less wired during class. Mr. Hale keeps shooting him odd looks that Stiles can't decipher.

He makes sure to graciously thank Ken and Sean for both toys.

February brings grotesquely sweet couples out, and suddenly everything is red and pink. Stiles spends the month watching hilariously bad television with Thor, who Stiles sneaks in. 

Thor gets extra snuggly as the days go by. He starts to follow Stiles home without being lead and eventually even lets himself in with what Stiles assumes are magic wolf powers.

“Why would a wolf follow me home?” he asks Scott during their Halo session.

Scott snorts. “Why would he let you treat him like a dog? He likes you, dude.”

“I think he likes me too much. Sean and Ken even let him eat at the table now- look out behind you!”

In early March his dad is allowed to visit under strict Sean-Ken-Thor supervision. Scott comes with him and spends most of spring break playing x-box with Stiles.

(Scott finds the dildo, awkward laughs presume.)

By the time spring break is over, Stiles is exhausted yet happy.

That changed to freaked out yet aroused when a very naked Mr. Hale is on his tree stump in place of Thor. He seems to be overtly lost in thought, so Stiles comes up behind him and runs his palm over Mr. Hale's scalp the way he does with Thor.

Mr. Hale nuzzles the hand without even looking up.

"What, no tail today?" he asks as he curls up next to him.

"You'd find out eventually," Mr. Hale murmurs, scenting Stiles' neck lazily. "Better now than later."

Stiles thinks some part of him should be mad. He can't find it in him, though, so he burrows his fingers in Derek's hair and strokes lazily.

"So I guess I can't call you Thor anymore," Stiles muses. Mr. Hale grins.

"Derek," he supplies. "My name is Derek."

"Thank you, Derek."

"For what?" he asks, moving down to scent Stiles' collarbone.

"For being you, when I needed you most."

A comfortable silence stretches between them.

"Also for not mentioning my awkward boners."

"Damn it, Stiles, that was a beautiful moment."

"Not sorry," he grins. Derek rumbles happily against his chest.

"Don't be, you give me awkward boners too."

Stiles feels a bulge pressing against his thigh.

"Awesome," he says breathily. “Sooo…are you a….”

Derek waits for him to continue. “A….?” he prompts when Stiles doesn’t continue.

“Werewolf?”

He sighs and nips at Stiles’ neck. “Yes.”

A thousand questions run through Stiles mind, but Derek silences them by pressing his lips gently to Stiles’.

“You’ve been impossible,” he breathes out once they separate. “You were right there, all lost and confused and upset, and I-“ he shudders, “-wanted to comfort you, to hold you.” He wraps his arms around Stiles. “Then your dad came, and you were hurt. I couldn’t take that anymore.”

Stiles balks. He honest to god just balks. The hot teacher’s aide is naked and interested in him. Said hot teacher’s aide is the wolf he’s been calling Thor this whole time.

Is he dreaming?

He must be dreaming.

“Stiles!” Ken yells. The yell is accompanied by loud whistles and more yelling.

“Coming!” Stiles yells back. He turns to see Derek fully shifted and wagging his tail.

Stiles comes to the magnificent conclusion that he’s not dreaming. He’s in the Twilight Zone. Derek stays the night and leaves early in the morning after a hardcore snuggle fest.

The next day, when he walks into first period, there’s a big black wolf sitting in his seat.

“Showoff,” Stiles mutters as he sits down on Derek’s desk. Derek huffs and jumps out of the seat, transforming as he goes.

“You love it,” he grins as Stiles shields his eyes, more out of respect than anything.

Stiles grins as Derek walks closer. "I do," he murmurs against his lips. 

The bell rings right as Derek is tying his shoes and Stiles is wiping the cum off his mouth and Derek's zipper.

Never has Stiles seen Derek this relaxed during a lesson.

With someone to lean on, both of them began to trust each other. Stiles trusts Derek with his story, and Derek slowly unravels his own tragedy piece by piece. Some horrific pieces needed to be coaxed out.

He won't go too deep into detail about the fire that killed his whole family - eight people - except for him, his uncle, and his sister. A hunter thought she was doing a good deed, and used Derek to get information on it. 

And Stiles thought his story was fucked up. 

April brings more mud than seems logical and torrential downpours of rain. 

"God- WIPE YOUR PAWS!" Stiles shrieks after cleaning up yet /another/ set of muddy paw prints on the kitchen tiles. "You're supposed to be domesticated!"

Derek wags his tail guiltily and trudges back to the welcome mat. 

Things sail pretty smoothly from there. That is, until Sean and Ken walk in on a very naked Stiles and Derek watching Mulan on Stiles' bed. 

(Scent marking, Derek had supplied the first time they did it. Naked cuddling, Stiles summarized. Basically, Derek responded. )

No amount of blankets could cover them in their embarrassed frenzy of trying to cover up. Sean and Ken just stood there, silently gaping. 

"You better be using condoms," Sean says, trying and failing to sound stern. 

Ken breaks first. "Jesus fucking- I need eye bleach," he breathes as he turns tail and runs away. 

"We will talk," Sean says. "Just later."

And with that, he closed the door. 

"That could have been a lot worse," Derek sighs into Stiles' hair. 

Stiles has never agreed with him more. 

The talk comes two days later. It is nothing like what Stiles is expecting. No talk of how much older Derek is, how they were both naked - nothing. What comes out is:

"Why aren't you using condoms?" Ken demands. 

Stiles double takes. Then he triple takes. 

"I- wh-," he stutters, trying to catch his train of thought. "Cond... Condoms."

"So you want AIDS?" Sean hisses.

Both of them stare at him expectantly. 

"Condoms," Stiles murmurs. "You think we're having sex."

Sean startles. "No teenager gets naked and just cuddles!"

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "We did. I'm not trying to get AIDS."

Ken and Sean exchange dubious looks. Stiles' heart goes into overtime. 

A small 'wuf' breaks the rising tension in the room. All three men turn to look at Derek. 

"Just remember next time," Sean sighs as he watches Derek put his head in Stiles' lap. 

He nods and hurriedly escapes from the table, Derek following suit. 

"Are we bad parents?" Ken asks once they're out of sight. 

Sean nods. "Probably."

Ken shrugs nonchalantly as he grabs his keys. "I'm getting pizza. Coming?"

With that, it was no longer weird to walk in on Stiles and Derek naked together. And that's exactly how Stiles and Derek spend Stiles' sixteenth birthday. 

May progresses in an explosion of flowers and AP exams. Stiles spends all his spare time (a good six hours of the day) in the library reading novels and autobiographies. Numerous flower crowns are made in Horticulture. 

Thank god for the floriculture unit. 

Derek finds him passed out on "The History of Male Circumcision" wearing flower crowns more times than he can count. 

"They make me feel like a Disney princess," Stiles argues. 

Derek snorts. "Okay, Bambi."

Due to grading exams and last-minute assignments, this is almost the only time Stiles can see Derek. 

By the time June comes around, Stiles is ready to collapse in frustration and restlessness. So, of course, that's when his dad asks if he wants to spend the summer back in Beacon Hills. 

Stiles can't seem to say yes, and only feels vaguely guilty when his dad sounds crestfallen at his rejection. 

When Stiles recalls this to Derek, he suggests they do something to celebrate. ("What are we celebrating?" "Your inability to give a fuck. No, really, your ability to say no and put your mental health before other's needs.") Derek gets them a bottle of Zinfandel to split. 

"Mr. Hale," Stiles gasps upon seeing Derek, "are you trying to seduce me?"

Derek blushes and tugs on the collar of his shirt as Stiles leans up and takes the bottle into his own hands. "Possibly."

"Relax," Stiles calls out as he trots into the kitchen. Derek follows, admiring the way Stiles looks in his own dress clothes. "You've got all weekend for that."

Thank sweet, merciful baby Jesus that Sean and Ken went house hunting in Michigan for the weekend. 

Two orgasm and a bottle of Zinfandel later, Stiles and Derek are tangled together as a huge mess of limbs. They're sharing sloppy, drunk, afterglow kisses as they look out at the stars. 

Derek kisses the top of Stiles' head. Stiles snuggles deeper into his arms, sighing contently. 

"I want this all the time," he admits. "With you."

Stiles smiles. Then his dick twitches and the smile slides off his face in mortification. 

A wolfish smile creeps onto Derek's face. "You get off on that?" he asks, his hands sliding down to Stiles' abdomen. "Get hot thinking about us together?" His hands cup Stiles' half-mast erection. "I'll fuck you everywhere in every position for as long as you're mine." He starts jerking him off with one hand, using the other to finger his loose hole. "Just wait, Stiles - you'll be my own little personal slut."

Stiles whines and rocks forward into Derek's hand while trying to push back on the fingers stretching him open. 

That filthy mouth will be the death of him, and he wouldn't want to go any other way. 

Later, with four orgasms under their belts, Stiles murmurs something under his breath before he falls asleep. Derek strains his ears to hear it, fighting off a wave of sleep. 

"Love you," Stiles murmurs. 

Derek falls asleep with a goofy smile plastered on his face and dreams of a future where he can be with Stiles forever, hearing those two syllables fall from rosy lips for an eternity.

Eventually, Stiles does agree to go visit his father. July is spent withering away in Beacon Hills. The most exciting thing that happened during his whole visit was when he got to play with the puppies at Scott's work, the second most being when he discovered Nutter Butters in the pantry. Being a loyal son and looking out for his father’s health, he finished the half-package in less than two hours. 

The sheriff had been thoroughly pissed when he found out, immediately setting Stiles up to make him more cookies. Thankfully, now his father is stone cold sober - however, now a workaholic. It's a start. 

The day before he's meant to leave Beacon Hill he goes to the store to leave his dad foods so healthy squirrels wouldn't even eat them, hoping his dad will be able to figure out how to make the powdered peanut butter he had thrown into the cart. He's not expecting to run into Derek.

They stare at each other a good minute before Derek speaks. 

"You live here?"

It occurs to Stiles that he never actually told Derek where he lived. Vice versa, Derek had never told Stiles where he was from. Unless Derek had followed Stiles to Beacon Hills, which he wasn’t even going to consider until he was at least ten hundred feet away from this situation.

"Soy de Beacon Hills" he croaks, thinking back to the Spanish lessons spent staring at Derek's ass. "Y tú?" 

"Soy de Beacon Hills Preserve," Derek answers with a bemused look, lowering a loaf of honey oat bread into his cart.

Suddenly it all makes sense. In a heady rush he remembers the case files splayed over the kitchen table, the charcoal foundation that the older kids got drunk at, and the worst: the cluster of tombstones holding one urn of ash because they were burnt so horridly no one could tell the bodies apart. And to have your sister survive that, only to die near that same location six years later. Stiles feels the color drain from his face. 

"Oh, fuck - Derek, I'm so sorry."

Seven years wasn't enough to close the wounds eight, now nine, people left. Ten years wasn't enough for Stiles to heal from one. 

A look of shock registers on Derek’s face before it clicks for him.

“Stilinski- Sheri- God, you knew this who- Stiles.” He makes a broken noise and lunges into Stiles' arms. Stiles holds Derek as he gets himself together. It takes a certain kind of closeness to cry in front of the whole wheat bread, he guesses. 

("S-So many grains! Look, Stiles!"  
"I know, sweetie! -GROSS SOBBING- SO HEALTHY!")

They separate after ten minutes of hardcore hugging. Derek gives him a grateful smile with watery eyes. Stiles gets it. He must’ve been holding himself together with Gorilla Glue if a realization like that made him come undone.

"I'm headed back to New York tomorrow," Stiles admits. "I could stay longer?"

Derek shakes his head. "Don't let me interfere with your plans."

He shrugs. "I could use a little interference in my plans."

The older man grins and bumps his shoulder. "Wanna have dinner?"

A slow, pleasant glow creeps its way across Stiles’ chest. "I'd love to."

Later, over dinner at In-n-Out, Stiles finds out Derek was there to close ties. When he means close ties, Stiles assumes it to be a financial situation. It's a nasty shock when he goes to the graveyard to put peace lilies on his mom's grave and Derek's there, pulling little purple flowers away from the huge, shared plaque. He goes up to Derek and puts his hand on his shoulder. He turns around and buries his nose in Stiles' shoulder. 

"Sorry," he rasps. "Wolfsbane."

"I thought there was a treaty?"

He huffs a laugh, the warm breath tickling Stiles' neck. "It grows naturally around werewolves."

Stiles takes a good look at Derek. His skin is paler than normal, his eyes have more bags than Wal-Mart checkouts do, and he's shaking. 

He knows what they both need, whether they know it or not.

"Derek," he sighs. "Let's go home."

With heavy hearts, teary goodbyes, and a hoard of food, they set out for New York. 

It takes a month because they stop so often. A cross-country trip, Stiles will be damned before he doesn't stop every five miles. The farther away from California they get, the lighter Derek's heart seems to get. 

The motel in Newton, Iowa took up a good week of their time. It starts when Derek sits Stiles down on the bed, taking the remote and shutting off the cartoon that had been playing. 

"Hey, what-" Stiles cuts himself off as he looks into Derek's face. "Are you okay?"

Derek shakes his head. His eyes keep flashing red. A queasy feeling worms its way into Stiles' stomach as Derek's claws shred into the blanket. 

"Lie with me," he groans as he flops back. Stiles follows warily, tucking his head into Derek's chest. 

They spend the whole week cuddling, but Derek won't tell him what's wrong. 

By the time they get back to New York, it's late August. Sean and Ken await with Stiles' report card and copious amounts of hugs. Derek refuses to leave his side, vegging out next to him on his bed watching Spongebob Squarepants for the rest of the summer. 

"Why is your Spanish teacher watching mediocre cartoons with you?" Ken asks when Stiles runs to the kitchen to get more Code Red and Pringles.

Stiles shrugs. "He's a student teacher, and we're watching great cartoons."

It's a week before junior year when Derek makes Stiles get an MRI scan. 

"I'm not sick, Derek," Stiles complains as they walk into the hospital. He's not stupid; he knows why Derek dragged him here. He researched months after his mother died, trying to cope with the large, bleeding hole inside of him. And when he found out it was possibly genetic- well. His dad wouldn't let him out of his sight until high school, drunk or not. 

"Not physically," Derek agrees as he drags him along the horrid bleached death smelling hallways. He notices Derek looks pained to be here as well and he swallows a heavy lump in his throat, willing his body to carry on.

There's a horrid mixture of godnogodnogodno and notrealnotrealnotreal as he follows Derek into the room so familiar to the one his mom was scanned in back in California.

It gets blurry after that. Stiles can vaguely remember being told to stay complete still, it'll take an hour, declining earplugs. The horrible pounding won't stop and it hurts his head to even breathe and he fucking can't-

The pounding stops. He lays on the stretch of bedding, dazed. The doctor comes in first, followed by a miserable-looking Derek.

"Atrophy of the cerebral cells," Derek grits out. "You were right."

"Fronto-temporal dementia," the doctor clarifies. "The only form of dementia t-"

"-that can affect teenagers," Stiles finishes in a horrified whisper. Derek steps closer and sits down on the bedding as Stiles' heart rate increases, wrapping his arms around him as Stiles has a panic attack. The doctor manages to talk Stiles down from it, and that's all he remembers before blacking out in Derek’s arms.

When he wakes up, he's in his bed. Netflix is on in the background, the volume turned down almost too low to hear. Derek watches him from his desk chair, hunched forward and barely blinking. His eyes are bloodshot and the deep bags are back. Stiles gets up and touches his shoulder gently, waking him up from his deep thinking.

"There's a cure," Derek rasps. And does Stiles heart soar at that information.

"Tell me," he urges, pulling up a bean-bag chair adjacent to Derek's. For the first time in a month, he feels good. Hopeful, almost.

The next half-hour is full of Derek explaining to Stiles how biting goes. No, Stiles, only alphas can turn people into werewolves. No, Stiles, we have anchors to keep us from turning into 'giant rage monsters' all the time. Jesus, Stiles, no, we don't have knots. Stiles, what the fuck, what kind of lore are you even reading?

Eventually it loops back around to the bite, and how it cures any illness.

"So, Scott has asthma, if you...."

"I'm not biting your friend so he can impress that Allison girl."

Stiles bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "Wouldn't people notice a difference?"

Derek shrugs. "You moved to New York to get away from your alcoholic father. He’s not an alcoholic anymore. You were cleared to go back months ago, and a situation like that can change anyone."

Bob's Burgers plays quietly in the background as the two fall into pondering silence. 

{"Oh my god Bob's Burgers," says Stiles  
"yah i fracking lav babs bargers,:"; asays derek  
ah well we should make oujt  
dey make out  
the end}  
Stiles can’t even feel the tears sliding down his cheeks. Derek makes a low, hurt noise in his throat and wipes away his tears faster than they can appear. All he can think of is how he won’t have to put his father through another funeral, another loss, another god damn dementia case. Another death to add to Derek’s heavy, growing pile that just won’t stop building up.

Thirty minutes later, Netflix is turned off and Derek is holding Stiles in his arms, petting his hair and coaching him a breathing pattern. He can barely stop himself from choking out the answer as soon as he feels his throat can make a noise somewhat above helpless croaking.

“Yes, god yes- please, Derek. I can’t die.”

Derek nods, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Anytime you want, then.”

This September is spent with Stiles packing his bags, packing Derek’s bags, and Derek finding a job at Beacon Hills High School as the new Latin teacher. Sean and Ken hug them both ferociously before they go, and Stiles isn’t afraid to admit he cried like a baby. The drive back to California is silent, Derek and Stiles holding hands the whole time.

Fifty miles outside of Beacon Hills, Derek pulls the car over. Stiles lifts his shirt up, closes his eyes and hopes he doesn’t die. Thoughts of purple wolfsbane flowers and amaryllis flow through his mind. When Derek’s teeth pierce through his skin, Stiles only whimpers quietly, determined to soldier through the worst of the pain. He sobs when it doesn’t get any better.

Derek lets out a mournful howl when the bleeding doesn’t stop, when Stiles becomes deathly, impossibly pale and his pulse slows to a crawl. Stiles reaches up, patting a bloody hand to Derek’s cheek, stroking his face gently. He refuses to notice how his hands and voice shake, how a trickle of blood runs out of his mouth with the last words he speaks.

“Thank you, Derek.”

Derek chokes on a sob, thick tears falling onto Stiles’ cheeks as he cries. He kisses Stiles on the forehead with clammy lips, knowing it was a matter of seconds but wishing he had just had five more minutes, five more hours, five more years.

He died on a Wednesday, Derek remembers. The service was on a Friday, and the pain went away on a Sunday, so many years in the future. The Sheriff was devastated, and Derek couldn’t leave him like that. Not after he had promised Stiles he would take care of him. Not after he was responsible for the death of the Sheriff’s only son. It was all Derek had left, besides keeping the amaryllis on Stiles’ grave fresh.

It wasn’t all terrible, Stiles knows. He was so cold, Derek was so warm, everything was fading and he was just so tired. His mom gently took his hand, led him to the abyss, and it was alright. He was safe. Everyone was safe. Nothing is cold, everything is warm and welcome. And when Derek joins him in a matter of blinks, he can only smile. His dad joins them, and he’s happy. He’s never been so wonderfully filled, so loved. Everything is complete, and everything is okay. He leads Derek into Nirvana, and Derek shoots him a loving smile that melts his insides into gold.

He’s content with holding Derek’s hand for an eternity.


End file.
